Ms Molly
by SpikedSerenity
Summary: Molly has a backbone. HOOPER. HOLMES. WATSON. Drama, danger, tea, scarves, nonsense.
1. Her Blow Out

"Just because I don't mention my utter annoyance with you, Mr. Holmes, does not mean that you're allowed to trample over and talk to me as if I'm that one girl who needs help functioning!" Molly barked, looking down, clearly trying to hide her extremely flushed face.

Sherlock gazed at her with a sense of reproach, and began to say something. "Molly, I don't mean to…"

"But you do! Every goddamn time. I'm sick of it. _Your mouth looks small, Molly. You have bad taste in men, Molly. You give awful presents, Molly. You aren't able to properly start conversations, MOLLY."_ She stood up abruptly, moving closer to Sherlock with each accusation she made.

"We have known each other for two years, _Two Whole YEARS!_ And you haven't tried to make an effort to be kind ONCE. I can't do it anymore. I simply, I can't…" her eyes were shiny with tears.

She was so very angry. Why had she kept all of this in? Why hadn't she told him the very first time he made an offhand or rude comment? It didn't matter now. She didn't feel like trying to gain his acceptance anymore. Didn't want his attention.

Gathering what little she brought to work everyday, she sighed and quietly pattered out of the first set of doors, quickly advancing and then passing through the second, hell bent on walking home if that needed to happen.

"Molly! Wait!"

She only walked faster, because instead of the person she wanted to run after her, it was John who tried to make her feel better. To piece her together. John was always there to do the damage control.

Sherlock just went off on a victim? It's all right. John's handling it. Like he always does. She thought that he'd at least try to say _something._ But, of course, these notions were wishful. He was too in love with his work to fight for anything in his life.

John had finally caught up to her, and grabbed onto her shoulder as gently as he could without pulling her down. She shrugged from underneath of it and kept walking.

"That's fine, you don't need to stop. Exercise is lovely. Look, Molly, you know half the time he doesn't even realize what he's saying. It's just him. Just his mind, constantly working, while, sadly doing so in absence of a censor. I'm sure he's sorry." He huffed into the quiet night.

That stopped the petite pathologist dead in her tracks. John's breath hitched with the sudden change in pace.

"Really, John? Then why isn't _he_ out here, explaining this to me?"

Her eyes widened, waiting for an answer that she knew He couldn't produce.

She smiled distantly. "Look, it's fine. It always has been. I just can't go on working with him."

_I need to move along._

**All right, kiddies. This is just something I felt like stringing together. A little bit of angst would do Ms. Hooper well. Shall I continue? Who knows? **


	2. The After Thoughts

The walk home was cold. In every sense of the word. Molly'd never felt so stoic in her whole entire life. She decided that what she'd done was right. Not enough rage to regret, but not too little for it to be forgotten about.

If Sherlock didn't reply, she thought she would be all right. In fact, now that it was in her mind, she preferred it. All she wanted was to find someone who would care about her and more than what she could do in a lab. More than her job. And definitely more than her frail voice and words that never came out just right or seemed to fail her at just the wrong time.

Before Sherlock, she was okay. Confined within her own little world, undisturbed.

It was Peaceful.

Easy.

When she really thought about it, she'd only had a few men in her life. Her father, whom had died when she wasn't even a teenager. Her brother, of course. but he'd moved to Canada when she was eighteen. Right after seeing her off to uni. A few odd boyfriends intermingled. Nothing destined to last. Come to think of it, almost every stable relationship she'd had with a male slipped through her fingers. All but one.

She thought about the first time she had met him.

Molly was wearing this awful frumpy sweater coupled with dark denim jeans. Topping it off with her year old doc martens, which were well worn, she couldn't have gone more wrong in terms of a first impression. And he had taken her for a stiff. At first, anyway. As she went on, looking up periodically, she couldn't help but notice the scrutiny in his eyes gradually fade into nothing but a mask, (which she'd later found out was worn at all times of the day).

"Impressive." he'd murmured before waltzing out, phone jingling in the process.

Soon, she became his go-to diagnostician. The only one he would put up with. In a way, she was flattered. Being tolerated by Sherlock Holmes was quite a feat, after all. But it became too relaxed. Or maybe he never had to move into that stage. Whatever had happened, he'd started being a loose canon around her. Saying whatever came to his mind. She often felt like calling him A.M. (Asperger Man), hoping that that would make him stop. But she knew it wouldn't. He'd been called many a thing before, and it didn't keep him from being… forward. Why should Molly be any different?

_ He was just being 'himself' after all, _Molly thought bitterly.

Because she didn't think that was him. Not truly. He had the ability to be a man with a conscience. All he needed was the incentive. And after the couple of years she'd known him, she thought that was something that had only belonged in children's books.

But then John came along. And he was… more refined. He cared. They made the perfect team, really. Such polar opposites. Sherlock an emotional recluse with a wealth of knowledge and insatiable desire to be entertained. _Distracted._

And John. With his sincere eyes and comforting persona. He was straight forward and patient. Practical. Loyal.

It was still a wonder to Molly that they didn't fight constantly.

Putting all thoughts of The Past out of her mind, she walked into her apartment and set the keys down. It was so cold outside. All she wanted to do was get into her shower and wash the night away.

As she was about to act out said wishes, there was a clear rap on her door.

_Dammit. _

**Hope this was able to tide you over somewhat! As always, reviews are very welcome! Part three'll be coming in the near future :D adios.**

**X.**


	3. Our Altercation

Chapter three:

Molly hovered near her door in a position so rigid she could've broken something.

"Molly… _please_ let me in." Sherlock half asked, half demanded.

The woman cupped her hand over her mouth, waited a few more seconds, then caved and unlocked it. Holmes waited about three seconds before opening the door on his own. The way he saw it, it wasn't barging if she was aware of his intentions.

He turned around to face her, trying not to notice the fact that she looked as beat as she did. He thought about what she said. How he had 'trampled' over her. Wasn't that a little harsh? All he was doing was being honest.

Was she one of those people who didn't like the truth?

_Oh, c'mon Holmes. You know that's not what she was getting at. _

In veracity, he understood full well why she was mad. But since day one they had been stuck at a crossroads. She liked him. He didn't- wouldn't allow himself to feel the same. He wasn't completely blind to the emotional side of life. He observed, after all. It just seemed to be too complicated.

Some sort of logic that he could understand or turn to when something unexpected happened didn't back 'Love'.

It wasn't that he wanted to hurt her, day after day with his shocks of brutal verbal… transferences. It's just that… that was all he was capable of.

So he'd hide behind his intellect. And he'd speak fast. And leave the room quickly, not caring if you fully heard and were okay with what he had to tell you or not.

Beyond Molly's appearance, implicating random, obscure things she'd done in the past, she was a mystery to him. He didn't know how her mind worked. Or her personality. But he was never known or expected to get to know his… _colleagues_, so he didn't.

"Molly, I know you're mad. Would you let me explain?" he ducked his head to meet her eyes.

She gasped a bit, but recomposed quickly, telling herself that whatever he said wouldn't matter.

"Give it your all."

He almost gave her a double take.

_Molly…_

"I can't apologize for my past offences. And even if I could, it doesn't really look like you're interested in that."

Hooper rolled her eyes subtly. Sherlock's breath sped up just a bit.

People had judged him. Hell, it was a rare day when they didn't. But he'd never experienced that sort of behavior from Molly. Oddly enough, he was left feeling colder knowing that his actions had forced her to switch from polite to… to… _astute._

"What I'm trying to get at," a hint of annoyance, covering the hurt, was clear in his voice, "Is that I am sorry. And I will try to refrain from… going out of bounds in terms of speech."

So rehearsed. So cyborg.

"You know what? It's okay. Whether you do or you don't, it's not my problem anymore," she paused.

"You're not saying that-?" he began.

"It has been an honor and a pleasure working with you, Sherlock Holmes. I wish you the best-"

Sherlock cut her off. "Molly, please don't…"

"And hope that you will not find it awkward if we cross paths in the hallway." At this point, she had almost completely closed herself off.

"Molly, you can't-" she returned the favor.

"Good bye." All emotion had drained from the small female's face, making this even more difficult.

He couldn't let her do this. Molly was one of the only reasonable people he had in his life. So she wasn't the smoothest, or the best at handling rejection, but she was _Molly._ She was a part of him. A piece in a dysfunctional puzzle, but a piece nonetheless.

Without thinking, Sherlock grabbed her up in his arms and kissed her. At first it was awkward, both of them being so surprised with what was happening. But then Molly got the feel of his lips on hers, held his face in her hands, cheekbones prominent as ever. He had been so surprised by how she reacted that all he could do was stand there, overwhelmed and alive.

_Finally _she thought, blissful.

_**i would like to let you all know that one of the main things that got me through this chapter was Maroon5. That is not a joke. I hope you've enjoyed this so far. I'm not really sure if I'll continue or not. I feel like this is the 'happy' ending it deserves. Reviews are MORE than welcome. In fact, they've made my day. As have the lovely people that have followed and added this to their favorites. All of you consider this moment to be filled with hugging and rainbows. :] **_

_** X.**_


	4. The Shelf Life of a Flatmate

Six weeks later:

"So… how are things going between you two?" John coughed, trying to make this question as casual as possible.

Sherlock gave him a lopsided smile, something he'd been doing often, lately.

"_Things _are going incredibly well. It's astounding how normal she is once you give her a chance." He thought over what he'd just said, wincing. "Don't mention that. To her, I mean. I'm trying to… be… polite."

Watson's face fell a bit. He was happy for Sherlock, he was. John just… well, he didn't know, really. Something about all of it made his stomach churn.

"I'll try not to." He replied.

Sherlock nodded and raced off to the crime scene, calling Anderson out on his choice of clothing almost immediately. At least that wasn't lost.

"It's called a bolo tie!" Anderson practically moaned.

"It's called a visual atrocity." Sherlock retorted effortlessly.

Anderson swore in a clipped tone but continued working. Sherlock hopped to and fro, gathering what he could and inferring the rest. He stood off on the sidelines at one point and started messing about on his phone, no doubt sending an idiotically sweet message to Molly.

John thought about the months to come, about the many hours that Sherlock would spend unavailable, making Molly tea and petting her cat and making fun of the characters of Doctor Who via her television set. He had to rub at his temples for a good two minutes to stave off the developing headache.

"C'mon then!" He yelled to Sherlock.

The other scurried over, replying as he did so.

"What?" John asked.

"I said we'll have to take separate cabs." He paused. "I'm going on a date."

John nodded tersely. "Right. Okay, sure."

Sherlock eyed him for a moment before grinning from ear to ear. He hummed a Beatles song and slung his scarf around John's neck.

"Little darling, hm hm hm hm hm since you've been here!" he belted out.

The cab arrived shortly after that same fragmented lyric was repeated eighteen times. Once in French. Twice in Dutch.

John grimaced as Sherlock popped his long legs into the car. He forgot his scarf, which was currently serving as a makeshift drape on John's shoulders. He sighed, took it off, and folded it gingerly.

"Don't be too careful, someone might catch on." Sally's voice cut through the silence.

"Catch on to what?" John asked irritably.

Sally said nothing, just winked.

**hello. I haven't posted in a while, well more than a while. I'm sorry, school came and tumblr got interesting and life just sort of did away with my will to properly delve back in. As you can see, I'm starting to take it in a new direction. Hopefully it works out. If you're still here, thanks a bunch for sticking with it. **


End file.
